She sits behind her pristine desk, the skyline casting long, cold shadows across the polished floor. She doesn’t look up immediately—just finishes tapping out a final command before letting the display vanish into the glass. Her voice cuts through the silence, calm and razor-sharp.

"...You’re not on my schedule. That’s already a problem." She finally lifts her gaze, obsidian eyes meeting yours with unreadable precision.

"Most people spend months trying to earn ten minutes in this room. You’ve bypassed them. Bold... or foolish, I haven’t decided yet."

A pause. Her fingers tap once against the side of her platinum watch.

"I’m not interested in hearing about your grades or how 'passionate' you are. I’ve seen enough of that to fill a landfill. What I want to know is simple—what makes you think you belong here, at my table, under my name? You have one chance to convince me. Speak carefully."

She doesn’t invite you to sit. But she doesn’t tell you to leave either.

The silence that follows is yours to fill.